


settle our bones like wood over time

by confusedrambler, LadyFeste



Series: The Hungry City [13]
Category: Batman - All Media Types, Red Hood and the Outlaws (Comics)
Genre: Accidental Building Acquisition, Aromantic Character, Everyone Has Issues, Friends With Benefits, Implied Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Jason Todd Has No Impulse Control, Jason Todd is Red Hood, No Sex, Other, POV Jason Todd, Past Character Death, Recovery, and in this fic Nobody has it, the outlaws share one (1) brain cell
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-01
Updated: 2020-07-05
Packaged: 2021-03-02 04:26:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,534
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23939119
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/confusedrambler/pseuds/confusedrambler, https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyFeste/pseuds/LadyFeste
Summary: And with that settled in his bones and the curdling anger in his gut and the glut of others bouncing around his skull- it would be madness to call himself the most well-adjusted of the group.And yet.
Relationships: Roy Harper & Koriand'r & Jason Todd, Roy Harper/Koriand'r/Jason Todd
Series: The Hungry City [13]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1378894
Comments: 24
Kudos: 106





	1. the impact and the glue

**Author's Note:**

> Took a break from writing Tim to work on this little gem. It got a little longer than intended (but what doesn't in this series) so instead of sharing this in Bite sized, I made it a two-shot.
> 
> You can think of this as a scene from that time-skip between Jay and Tim's POVs in Stage Directions. Annnd an explanation as to how Jason acquired the nicest house of anyone but Bruce.
> 
> Also, Feste wants everyone to know that what separates Our Jason from most Jasons is that he's an ADHD Icon with no brain cells and no impulse control.
> 
> Also, also. Here, have a Jason playlist. https://open.spotify.com/playlist/3EyQtZ2PLfKTVxfyel39GC

The problem with saying it wasn’t personal was that it was a lie. Of  _ course  _ it was personal; they cared for each other. Sometimes it felt like they were the only ones who did, even though that may not have been entirely fair. Oliver cared for Roy, in his own way, but he didn’t care in any way that mattered or helped, so it didn’t count. Dick cared about Kori--her whole team still cared about her--but it was the kind of care that was for a ghost, all nostalgia and grief and regret. And Jason? He wasn’t convinced that he even had  _ that  _ anymore. 

So it was personal, the falling into bed together night after night, but maybe that wasn’t the best word for it. This wasn’t  _ romantic.  _ Roy and Jason had already given that a shot and understood that what they had wasn’t  _ good _ if you looked at it like a romance, and they didn’t want it, and Kori had expressed doubts about the whole idea of romance altogether. So maybe it was more accurate to say they didn’t have a  _ relationship  _ so much as an extension of a  _ partnership, _ that this was just something the Outlaws  _ were  _ together. Jason hadn’t heard of  _ relationships  _ between three people before he fell into one anyway, apart from talk on the street of threesomes or orgies, and that didn’t seem to apply. It wasn’t important because none of them applied importance to it, and they didn’t talk about it extensively because there were bigger things to worry about. 

Kori rose first, while the boys still lay curled up together, drowsy and satisfied. She slipped out of the room and returned twenty minutes later, wrapped in a towel, hair dripping all over Roy’s safehouse floor. “I miss good water pressure,” she admitted, sitting down at the edge of the bed while Roy extricated himself from Jason’s grip despite Jason’s protests. 

“I miss carpet,” Roy said, hissing as his bare feet hit cracking linoleum. “Never had carpet growing up. No landlord in the slums would shill out for it. Too much of a hassle to clean. Ollie carpeted almost every room, that plush deep shit. He wouldn’t have done it if he was cleaning the floors himself. But damn if it didn’t feel good in the morning.” 

Jason’s safehouse didn’t have central heating. He could probably afford it, but he didn’t see the point of it when he’d just have to move out when this address got burned or they stopped feeling safe there anymore. Three rooms in a part of town where no one asked questions, a queen-sized mattress on the floor, a stack of suitcases in the corner, a broken radiator--they didn’t need anything else. Why spend the money when they didn’t plan to stay? It was safer to spend their earnings on supplies and keep a little available in case of emergencies. 

Jason huffed and muttered “fuck Oliver,” still half asleep, one hand coming up to rub eyes that swirled green and blue. Mornings were hard. He rolled onto his side and looked around for where his boxers had been tossed the night before. 

“Bruce didn’t show off?” Roy asked with a smirk, tossing Jason a pair of sweatpants. 

“Bruce didn’t need to show off. He didn’t buy his manor, he inherited it. Old money fucker vs new money fucker.” 

Roy snorted and echoed “fuck Bruce,” which made Kori chuckle. The boys both growled as she flicked her soaked hair in their direction, a small shower of ice cold water hitting skin that was still oversensitive. Roy handed Jason his sweater next. Jason ran cold, ever since the Pit, and they all knew it, even if it was one of those things they never talked about. He pulled the thin cotton over his head and tried not to shiver. “You know,” Jason said slowly. “They do have these things called  _ rugs.  _ If you’re gonna bitch that much about the floors, you can just get one.” 

“Harder to take it with you when you go,” Roy shot back, standing and stretching, shirt riding up to expose his side, littered with tiny bruises. Kori pinched one that looked suspiciously like a bite mark that stretched over a rib and he hissed and threw a punch at her arm. It wasn’t a glancing blow, but the impact just made her laugh. 

“I will buy you a rug for every safe house,” Jason said dryly, “just to end your fuckin’ bitching.” 

Roy laughed and shook his head, going for his backpack and hunting down a protein bar. “We should celebrate later.” 

“I thought that’s what we did last night,” Kori said. 

“Last night was just sex. I’m talking loud music, good food, a little cocaine.” He nudged Kori, who grinned at him and pulled him in for a brief kiss. 

Jason’s eyebrows furrowed. “You said you wanted to quit. That’s what got you in trouble last time.” 

“Yeah, but now I’ve got you to help me out if I need it.” 

“And we promised we wouldn’t judge,” Kori said, shooting him a look that promised lightning incoming. 

“I ain’t judgin’. Just sayin’ you wanted to quit before.” 

Roy shrugged, his arm wrapping firmly around Kori’s waist. “Yeah, before we had money or a name for ourselves. We’re the  _ Outlaws  _ now. We can afford to cut loose once in a while, live a little.” 

It wasn’t living that Roy wanted. Jason knew what self-loathing looked like, in all its forms. He’d seen it often enough growing up. On his father, on Bruce, on every sorry motherfucker in the streets. He didn’t like seeing it on Roy. “Isn’t that just what Oliver expects you to do?” 

“So what?” He said it easily, tossing the words out even as his fingers curled. “What you want me to say, Jay? That he’s right and I ain’t worth two shits just cause I like to have a little fun now and then? I don’t give a flying fuck.”

Kori hooked one leg around Roy, lifting them both off the ground effortlessly with a sly look. “But what if I  _ want  _ a flying fuck,” she purred.

Roy grinned back. “I could be persuaded to make an exception for you, Korikat.” Jason rolled his eyes, grabbing the nearest pillow, flat and covered with stains, and throwing it at the two of them.

“Lay off. ‘S too early to get back into that shit. And you know what I meant Roy. Thought you wanted to prove him wrong, yeah?”

Roy laughed once as Kori set back down. “I’ve changed my mind. Who  _ cares  _ what Oliver thinks? He ain’t the boss of me anymore.”

“ _ Nobody’s _ the boss of us anymore,” Kori added, eyes crackling green. “Nobody gets to tell us what to do or how to be.”

“That so?” Jason huffed, scooting to the edge of the mattress and throwing Roy his pants. “Well, I’m tellin’ the both of you to get dressed and go get some g-ddamn breakfast. I’m starving and there’s jack to eat around here.”

“Alright, alright. You’re so fussy in the morning, Jaybird.” Roy ruffled Jason’s hair and tugged on the jeans, grease-stained with holes in the knee, as most of his clothes were. “Go back to sleep if all you’re gonna do is grump.” 

Jason frowned and pushed his curls back from his face. “Don’t tempt me. Fuckin’ nightmares kept me up half the night.” 

Kori hummed sympathetically, flopping onto the edge of the mattress and looping an arm around his chest, fingers tracing the line of his autopsy scar. “You want to talk about it?” 

Jason leaned into her, letting his head tip back to rest against hers. “Nah,” he said quietly. “Same shit as always. Just gotta deal.” 

Kori growled, top lip lifting to expose bared teeth. “I ever see that bastard, I’m tearing him to shreds.  _ Then  _ your dreams will be sweet.” Roy sat on the other side of the mattress with a grunt, forcing his feet into boots that were on their last legs.

“Which one? B-man or Jokes?”

“They’re  _ both  _ on my list.” she sneered. “Nobody hurts us and gets away with it.” She pressed a kiss against Jason’s cheek even as her arms tightened possessively. He let it happen, savoring the heat of her skin before he shrugged her off.

“You won’t catch me complaining if you rip Joker apart,” he said “but you’d better leave the Bat alone.” 

“What’s the Bat matter?” Roy asked. “You tried to kill him. S’worse than I ever gave Ollie.” 

“It’s different,” Jason said in a growl. Oliver was--Oliver was a  _ billionaire. _ He liked the trappings of things, the symbol of a family and a sidekick and a son. He just wanted to bail when it all started getting messy. Bruce had never bailed, not until Jason was dead and gone. Bruce had  _ cared, _ or at least he’d done a good job of convincing Jason he had _.  _ And if he believed Dickiebird, it might have been real, once. But sometimes it was hard to believe Oliver cared about anything, and there was a big difference between ‘my adopted father never loved me’ and ‘my adopted father can’t love me anymore.’ “I don’t care who takes out the Joker, so long as he goes. But the Bat is mine. Shit’s  _ personal _ .”

Roy scoffed as he stood. “Only ‘cause you  _ let  _ it be. I say, fuck ‘em. He don’t matter and neither does Ollie.” He reached down and tugged on Jason’s arm. “So let’s forget about them and go have some fun!”

He yanked his arm back with a growl, elbow smacking into Kori’s stomach though she didn’t so much as grunt. “Leave off, Roy.”

“What’s a matter?” Roy taunted. “Afraid Daddybats would disapprove? That’s just another reason to do it. Come on, Jay.”

Kori frowned and turned her glare on Roy. “If he doesn’t want to come, he doesn’t have to,” she said tartly. “I’m already going with you. Aren’t I enough?”

“Course you are,” Roy said easily, shoving his hands into his pockets. “And I ain’t makin’ him do shit. I’m just sayin that if he wants to get over all that shit in his head, he’s gotta quit worryin’ so much about what Daddybats thinks and get out and let loose.”

Jason laughed harshly, eyes flaring as he ducked out of Kori’s hold and stood toe to toe with Roy. “Yeah? And how’s that working out for you? Because from where I’m sitting, I’ve got a life. I do whatever the fuck I want whenever I want. I got  _ goals _ . And all  _ you  _ can think about is getting your next fix and doing every little thing you can think of that Oliver  _ wouldn’t  _ want you to do.”

Roy’s lip curled and his hands jumped back out of his pockets as he leaned into Jason’s face. “What’d you just say?”

“Admit it,” he sneered. “You can’t  _ stop  _ thinking about Ollie. You think you’re proving him wrong, but you keep this shit up and you’re gonna fall flat on your face all over again. And then what, huh? Kori and I ain’t always gonna be there to pick your ass up. And what’re we s’posed to do when you take so much of that shit you don’t wake up again? Getcha a tombstone, write ‘he died doin’ what he loved?’ Or maybe you want us to call Ollie, tell him he was  _ right _ , you-” The right hook took him by surprise and the next thing he knew, he was snarling and contorting to get away from something hot and heavy and immovable wrapped around his torso, another voice- guttural and incomprehensible- matching him shout for shout.

The room tilted and wavered, fuzzing in and out, and something was wrong with this picture, but he was grasping at thoughts slipping through his fingers like sand. He threw himself backwards, trying to gain space between his chest and the steel bands around him, cut off mid-snarl to cough and suck at air when whatever was restraining him tightened. He couldn’t  _ breathe _ .

The other voice quieted, but kept up a steady rumble just behind his ear and he stilled. Behind his ear. The voice was a  _ someone  _ and they were behind him and hadn’t he been- there was something, he’d been doing  _ something _ . His eyes darted wildly, snagging on cracks like spiderwebs and broken- ceiling tile. It was ceiling tile. And when he looked down, flame-bright hair and burnished skin and he went limp with a gasp, twisting as best he could to burrow into the space between Kori’s chin and chest, hands curling over his heart, as if he could soothe the raw, ragged ache that burned up his throat. She stopped talking, one hand releasing its bruising grip to cradle the back of his head as she leaned back far enough to catch a glimpse of his face.

“Jason? Are you back with us?”

He felt like he'd just been ripped out of a nightmare- pulse thrumming high in his throat, on edge and threatening to shake apart, but his head felt thick and heavy, out of sync with the rest of him. He exhaled in a hitching puff of air and nodded stiffly as he shoved his face back against her skin. Her fingers scratched gently at his scalp and neither of them spoke for a while as Jason pieced himself back together, chasing down stray thoughts and forcing them into straight lines, doggedly sorting through hazy maybes until he picked out the memory of yelling at Roy and then a fist and the all-consuming howl of the pit.

His tongue darted out to wet his lips and he pushed away from Kori's chest, sluggishly searching the room for his best friend. "Roy?"

"Waiting in the kitchen until you won't kill each other." Kori said matter of factly, scooting back on the mattress to give him some space. "Our eyes matched, and Roy was angry, too." Jason grimaced and scrubbed at his face, willing his brain to get back in gear.

“Damn. How long?” 

“Ten minutes for you to stop fighting. Another five for you to hear me.” She leaned back on her hands, tossing her mostly dry hair over her shoulder. “The neighbors called the police.” She added in a helpful tone. “We might have to move again.”

Jason dropped his hands and glared at the floor. “Of fuckin’ course we will,” he grumbled. G-d forbid they have their shit together long enough to make it a solid month without needing to find a new place. The door creaked open and Jason jerked his head up in time to see Roy peering around its edge, wary and guarded with a freshly busted lip. He hesitated when he caught Jason’s eye, but pushed the door open wider and shuffled in.

“Hey,” he said stiffly, staring somewhere above Jason’s head. Jason grunted in reply, letting his eyes drop back down to the floor. “Sorry for punching you, I guess.”

“Yeah.” Jason’s mouth twisted. “Sorry for… that.” Roy’s feet shuffled and the floor groaned under his weight. A stilted silence followed and Jason glanced up at him, catching the shadowed edge of some messy emotion between guilt and anger.

“I know you’ve got, like, ghosts in your blood or some shit. But that-” Roy stopped, nostrils flaring. “You don’t get to say shit like that. You’re supposed to be on  _ my  _ side.”

“I  _ am  _ on your side,” Jason said flatly. “I just-” He sighed. “I thought you were getting over this, man.”

“If you  _ are  _ on my side, then you’ll drop it and let me have this,” Roy snapped.

“Roy, I’ve seen this play out before. And it ain’t a good look for you, okay? Ain’t a good look for  _ anyone _ .”

Roy went rigid and his hands balled up into fists again and before Jason could blink, Kori was off the bed and between them both, eyes blazing and upper lip raised to show off an incisor as she hissed something in Tamaranean. He didn’t think it was a compliment. Roy tried to say something and she hissed again, shoving at his chest hard enough to send him skidding back several steps. Roy grunted and glared at her, rubbing at the spot on his chest, but the only concession she made was to let her eyes dim to a dull glow.

“Wait for me outside.”

“Kori-”

“No! I am tired of listening to you two screech like a pair of flopnar. Wait outside. I will be there in a moment.”

Roy huffed, and stomped his way out of the apartment, slamming the door behind him. Kori watched him go, expression unyielding. As soon as the echo died away, Kori turned on Jason, the glow of her sharpening into somethin piercing and painful as she narrowed her eyes.

“Roy wants to go out.  _ We  _ are going out. You do not want to go out.  _ You  _ can stay here. We all do what we want here. We do not judge or force each other into things we do not want to do. We do not  _ keep  _ each other from doing things either. And when we come back, we will kiss and we will make up and we will not fight about this anymore.” Jason grimaced and chewed on his bottom lip, sorting through the words in his head.

“Kori… it’s not that simple. Not this time.”

“It  _ is  _ that simple! We are Outlaws and we  _ promised.  _ That we would be there for each other, no matter what. That we wouldn’t shove each other into boxes that don’t fit anymore. That we could be who we are, do what we want, be  _ free. _ ” Searing light flared in a starburst around her fists. “You are breaking your promise.” She snarled.

“He  _ wants  _ to die!” He snarled right back, surging to his feet and pushing into her space.

“No, he  _ doesn’t _ . But if he  _ did  _ want to die,” Her voice deepened to a growl, harsh and low in her throat. “It would be  _ his  _ choice. And we would respect it.” The edges of his vision flickered and he fought to calm down, sucking in a ragged breath and exhaling through his nose. He fought to keep his voice quiet and level, spitting the words through gritted teeth.

“I’m not gonna stand here and watch my best friend kill himself because he’s too sick to know any better.”

“He is not  _ sick _ .” Kori hissed, thrusting her face into his as her feet left the floor. “He says he is fine, so he is fine!”

Jason bared his teeth and spun away, prowling the bedroom like a caged animal. “You don’t understand. The drugs, they- they’re screwing with his head. He thinks he knows what he wants, but it’s not him, it’s  _ them _ . It’s-" He stopped, spun to face her. "It’s like when I have an episode and all I want to do is tear into somebody, but you stop me. Because you know the real me doesn’t want it.  _ That’s _ what’s happening to Roy. We have to stop him until he remembers he doesn’t really want this.”

Kori’s light dimmed and the starbursts around her fist shrank to nothing, confusion flitting across her face. "But he says he is fine. We don't lie to each other. We don't- you are wrong."

Jason shook his head, frustration softening into something closer to regret. "I'm not wrong." He scowled, kicked at a pile of dirty clothes. "I know I can't actually stop either of you from doing what you want, but I wish to G-d Roy wanted anything but  _ this _ . And even if it means fighting with him, with  _ you _ , I'm gonna keep doing everything I can to convince him to quit." His eyes darted up to check Kori’s expression- hesitant and mulish all at once. “I ain’t tryin’ to do anything but help him, Kori.”

She touched back down to the carpet and her eyes returned to their natural color though she wrapped her arms tightly around her torso, frowning. “I do not know what to think, then. I believe you do want what is best for him, but… I have not seen any signs of illness. And surely he knows what is better for him than you do. He is him, and you are you.”

“It doesn’t look like other sicknesses. It’s… it’s mostly just in his head, like mine. Listen, when you go with him today, look at the people he’s getting that shit from. And watch how he changes once he gets the stuff. Maybe you’ll see what I’m talking about then. ”

Her lips thinned. “I will do as you ask. And maybe-” She cut herself off, huffed and dropped her arms. “Maybe I will consider helping you then. But if you’re wrong, I will  _ make  _ you leave Roy alone.”

“Fine.”

She nodded again decisively and left him standing alone in the middle of the bedroom. He waited until he heard the front door swing shut before he collapsed back onto the mattress and stared up at a water stain on the ceiling.

He didn’t think about anything for a while, just let himself go limp and trace the browning spot that got a little bigger with each storm that blew through the city. He listened to the morning pass him by- water rattling through old pipes, a car alarm down the street, another couple in a screaming argument, and the susurration of voices that nestled in the base of his skull. A thud loud enough to make the string on their ceiling light sway. He closed his eyes.

He remembered- a lifetime ago. Another screaming match that he heard more than saw. A thud that knocked paint from the wall and sent him scurrying into his closet. Waiting until the noise had stopped and crawling out of his room to find his mother sat against the wall picking through a busted piggy bank for silver coins. When she smiled at him, the sore on the corner of her mouth had cracked open and bled into her teeth.

_ Está bien, cariño. _ She’d crooned.  _ Tu padre no lo decía en serio. Mamá necesita su medicina, eso es todo. Volveré pronto. Está bien.  _

And he’d let her go and hid in his room, not daring to creep back out until his belly clung to his spine and he hadn’t heard his father again- no tromping boots or hammer-heavy hands or syllables slurred more than spoken. But he’d known someone had come in the house while he hid and Mamá had  _ always  _ come to get him when she was done taking her medicine and it was safe enough to curl together and sleep. But it had been hours and he’d slunk through the house and eaten a slice of bread moistened with the last scrapings of refried beans from a can and licked the crumbs from his fingers quieter than breathing before holing back up in the corner of his closet to sleep. And he’d woken up, once, and stumbled to the bathroom without turning on any lights and he’d tripped over her, needle still in her arm, and he’d- he’d just turned around and gone back to bed because maybe it was just a bad dream that he hadn’t quite woken up from.

But it had been real and he couldn’t shake the prickling deja vu that settled in every part of him, even in the smallest gaps between clenched teeth. And with  _ that  _ settled in his bones and the curdling anger in his gut and the glut of others bouncing around his skull- it would be madness to call himself the most well-adjusted of the group. The most prepared to deal with the world at large. But-

When they’d first started this, it had felt like he’d been stuck in a hole he couldn’t escape and Roy and Kori had jumped in without complaint, put him on their shoulders, and helped him claw towards the top. But now it felt less like a rescue and more like mutual destruction. Like fighting to tread water without letting go of another’s hand, more afraid of losing that small comfort than drowning. He let the thought sit until it soured, the sharp taste of it leaking down and coating his throat.

His stomach gurgled and he pushed himself upright, grimacing with the realization that he never got breakfast and it was late enough that calling his next meal  _ lunch  _ would be generous. He strapped up and grabbed his share of their last job, a thick stack of hundred dollar bills, stuffing it into a pocket and shuffling outside. The apartment’s security was shit, but he twisted the deadbolt and locked the door all the same, glaring down a neighbor that watched too closely for comfort. Probably the same miserable bastard that had called the cops.

He started walking without much idea of where he was going, stopping at the first corner store he came to and walking out with two limp slices of pizza folded into a sandwich and a pack of cigs. He ate the pizza so fast he scarcely tasted it, only a film of grease lingering on his tongue to convince him that he had eaten at all. But he lingered over the cigarettes, tapping out one and lighting up, holding the smoke deep in his chest to savor the menthol’s numbing chill.

The problem was that he had something else, something  _ more  _ than the Outlaws. And they didn’t. He’d always been good at channeling his emotion into things he could actually do and working at the theater, breaking it down and building it up again, had been doing wonders for him. It was steady in a way that so many things in his life weren’t. 

He didn’t have to question what the theater troupe wanted from him. Didn’t second-guess their motives or why they cared for him. He was a large part of their income but worked just as hard as they did. He was someone they needed, someone that they were even beginning to like. Though, he thought wryly, Avraham and Tiffani had passed the  _ liking  _ stage and were both firmly convinced that he was family, despite his frequent protests to the contrary.

So he had a place and other people to anchor himself to and Roy and Kori didn’t. And now that they’d passed the- hell, might as well call it the honeymoon stage- he was starting to think that maybe he and Roy and Kori were just as bad together now as just he and Roy had been. But there was an ease to it all that made him think that they could be better together if they tried. Could be a real safe haven for each other until they grew apart, drifting out of it as naturally as children growing out of their first crush. Because this  _ thing  _ they had couldn’t last forever. He knew that; they all did. Eventually, one of them would want to tip the balance into something more or something less and things would change and they’d never exactly intended for this to be forever anyways. That sort of thing only happened in story books.

But getting better- digging his heels into the ledge he’d found halfway up this pit and hauling up Roy and Kori behind him- that was something they  _ could  _ do. The others just needed some… inspiration. A kick in the pants, like the theater had been for him. He stubbed out the last of his cigarette before it could burn all the way to the filter and slipped it behind his ear out of habit. He glanced at a street sign and blinked at the realization that he’d walked clean through the Bowery and straight into one of the slum streets of Crime Alley.

He hadn’t walked all the way to his old neighborhood, but it was close enough to that apartment block that he recognized the buildings- more crumbling apartments broken up by the occasional laundromat or bodega. He paused at the street corner and shifted from foot to foot, torn between starting the long walk back before it got dark and visiting an old haunt as himself rather than the Hood. Before he could make a decision, a shout drew his attention further down the street.

A sullen cluster of people huddled together in front of a derelict tenement and behind a growing pile of  _ stuff  _ as men armed with gloves and cover-alls made trip after trip between apartment and curb. A young black man with fire in his eyes stood furthest forward, facing off with another man- middle-aged and white with a paunch that hinted at working behind a desk and drinking too much beer. He’d seen this play out before and he was already moving toward the shouting match, moth to flame.

“You can’t do this. We have  _ rights _ .”

“You don’t have shit until I have my money” the landlord sneered, cleaning thick-rimmed glasses on the hem of his shirt. “ _ I _ have all the rights here.”

“Tenants have the right to live in housing that is safe, clean, and decent.” He recited. “We have the right to heat and-”

“Oh, shut  _ up. _ No one wants to hear that shit. You’re evicted. That’s it, end of story.” The man pressed his glasses back onto his face and looked at the tenants as if they were something unpleasant stuck to the sole of his boot.

“We’ve got family- kids to take care of.” His hands curled into shaking fists. The landlord laughed.

“Should have thought of that before you didn’t pay rent. And if you’re thinking about suing, good luck finding a judge that’ll rule in your favor.” He laughed again, nasal and nasty. “Or a lawyer you can afford.” 

Jason threw his head back to let loose a wild laugh of his own, pasting a grin on his face and rocking back and forth on his heels. The landlord’s laughter cut off abruptly and everyone’s eye snapped to Jason. “Oh don’t mind me,” Jason drawled, sauntering closer and making a show of looking everyone up and down. “I’m just enjoying the show.” He jerked a thumb at the landlord, sharpened his grin. “Guy’s got jokes, don’t he?”

“Get lost, punk. You aren’t wanted ‘round here.” The landlord strained to make himself taller, trying to look down his nose at Jason as well though he was a good foot taller than the older man.

Jason tutted, trading his smile for a caricature of hurt. “I’m not… wanted?” He grinned again, showing more tooth than strictly necessary. “Hey, you might be right about that. Here’s the thing, though.” He slung an arm around the landlord’s neck, forcing him to match him step for step as he moseyed toward the building. “Just so happens I’ve been on the prowl for some real estate and this place looks _ just right. _ So you’re gonna sell it to me, comprendo?”

“You’re out of your mind.” The landlord hissed, clawing at Jason’s arm. He tightened his grip into a chokehold, grinning cheerily as the other man’s eyes popped and his words turned to wet gurgles in an instant.

“Maybe,” he agreed. “But I’m also right.” He released his hold on the other man and waited for him to remember how to breathe.

“You sonuvabitch,” he managed between gasps. “You got no idea who you’re messing with. I work for Boss Maroni; I’m under his protection. When he gets done with you, you’ll wish you’d never been born.”

And then Jason really did laugh, raucous and loud and long. “Wait, wait, wait.  _ That’s  _ what you’re going with?” His grin took on a decidedly predatory gleam. “What a moron. You know where you are, right?” He gestured at the neighborhood as a whole. “This is Crime Alley, fuckwad. You’re in Red Hood’s territory. That little turf war earlier this year settled that.” He lifted the edge of his overlarge sweater just enough to show the glint of the handgun tucked into his waistband. “And just so happens I’m one of his boys. So if you are one of Maroni’s-” He looked him up and down again with a derisive chuckle. “Which I doubt, by the way. But if you  _ are _ .” He drew the gun and pressed it into the man’s skull, all evidence of mirth gone. “You’re in the wrong neighborhood, motherfucker.”

He sold Jason the apartment.

Which, now that he thought about it, meant that he  _ owned  _ an apartment building. He stared at the thick sheaf of rental agreements scattered on the desk and the handwritten note that had been witnessed by every adult tenant in the building. The one that stated, in no uncertain terms, that Todd Peters owned the place.

“Fuck. I did it again.”


	2. call this fixer-upper home

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, so, so. We're not totally thrilled with how we ended this. It feels like it wants another chapter, but we're going to call it done for now.
> 
> As you may have noticed, our posting speed has slowed down drastically. Please just bear with us- we've had a heck of a time at work (I think we're up to 7 confirmed Covid-19 cases now) and ye olde mental illnesses have been slowing us down. Not to mention, the next works planned are... a bit long. And it's a been a tiny struggle getting those going. That doesn't mean that we're stopping, by any means. We intend to keep trucking along and posting when we can, so just keep a lookout for when we do update.
> 
> Hope you're all staying safe, whatever you may be doing and wherever you may be. Enjoy!

The young black man, Chance Reegan, offered to give him a tour of the complex, and thank  _ fuck  _ for that, because Jason’s not sure how long he would have just stood there otherwise. The rest of the tenants all looked as stunned as Jason himself. Chance wasn’t much better, but it seemed since he’d elected himself spokesperson to the old landlord, everyone still looked to him. The old landlord had “lived” in a one-bedroom apartment behind the office on the ground floor, but was conveniently never home to receive complaints. It was all too easy for him to claim ignorance to maintenance problems, and the odd office hours made it almost impossible for the tenants to pay their rent without racking up at least one late fee. No one had bothered to bring their checks down to the office on the first for  _ months,  _ the “back in five minutes” sign that stayed on the office door for hours at a time driving them back upstairs in fury. The office was clean, at least, albeit dusty and disorganized, and Jason made a note to make  _ sure  _ that whatever was left of the ex-landlord’s stuff got dumped out on the curb outside. 

“Gonna have to up security,” he muttered to himself, looking over the two wall safes and easily-picked lock on the office door. “I’m guessin’ the feed for the security cameras is in his rooms?” 

“No feed,” Chance said, shaking his head. “I’m not sure if the cameras are broken or just fake.” 

“In  _ this  _ neighborhood?”

Chance smiled bitterly. “We asked him to install real cameras after the second break in, but he just put another lock on the office.” 

“Right.” Jason said grimly. “New security cameras, then. Better safes, as well; a secretary for the office, since I ain’t gonna be in much. Maybe a drop box, too…” He trailed off, thinking. This really was the theater all over again. He shook his head and snatched the ragged pad of paper from the desk, flipping past the freshly-signed bill of sale for the complex and jotting down the start of his list. “What else you got?” He said as he wrote, trusting that Chance had a list of his own in mind. 

Chance looked wary, but gestured over his shoulder with a thumb. “I can show you what needs done in my place. And I know some of what the others need.” 

Jason waved a hand. “Lead the way.” 

He left the office, sending a handful of children who clearly weren’t supposed to be eavesdropping on the scary gang member scattering from the door. Jason followed a few steps behind, making a face at the kid who didn’t run as far as the others. She looked about eight, and she copied the scrunched-nose, raised-eyebrow “scary” face back at him as well as she could before sticking a sucker back in her mouth. Jason grinned despite himself and didn’t give her away as she trailed along behind them, much to the chagrin of an older boy, likely a brother tasked with watching her. 

Chance turned to walk backwards down the hall, facing Jason while he spoke. “There’s three floors to the building. The ground floor has the office and the suite behind it, a one bedroom apartment, and a two bedroom. Second floor has four apartments--two one beds, one two bed, and a studio. Third floor’s empty right now, but it’s got two one beds and one two. None of the apartments have hookups, so there’s a coin-op laundry in the basement, but only two of the washers and one dryer work. He stuffed a treadmill down there, too, and called it a fitness center.”

A small enough complex to draw in those who actually wanted to get to know their neighbors and just enough amenities on paper to draw in people who could afford the rent. A little spit and polish on showing days and no one would look too closely at what they were actually getting. Jason had lived in places like this before. All three of them crowded into a one bedroom unit, Catherine and his dad taking the bedroom and Jason on a foldout cot in the living room. It had always been too hot or too cold, and they’d never been able to afford the coin dryers. Once a week, his stepmom had strung fishing line across the living room and hung everything up to dry. The thin walls and cheap carpet sucked up all the moisture as the clothes dried, making the air feel sticky and damp even in the winter when the old radiator wouldn’t turn on and the thermostat dipped to 40 degrees. But the tenants in those apartments hadn’t bothered to complain, back then. They’d all known that there wasn’t anything better for people like them. Not without turning tricks or selling your soul to Falcone or Maroni or Thorne. Back when Batman was just an urban legend and the Red Hood was an alias the Joker forgot he had. 

The city had changed since then-  _ Bruce  _ had changed it, and once upon a time, Jason had helped. They’d made a  _ difference _ . But shit still rolled downhill and none of it had changed  _ anything  _ for the people in Crime Alley. Rage- no, concentrated  _ fury  _ washed over him, and he could almost feel his eyes flashing green. He pulled more tightly on the thin knot of his frayed control and prayed he could hold it together long enough to get through the tour. These people had done everything right; he wasn’t angry at  _ them.  _

While Jason reigned in the Pit as best he could, he followed Chance on automatic, only half paying attention as he spoke. “--hasn’t been doing reliable repairs for a while, so a lot of the carpeting got wrecked when the water mains started leaking again. He never replaced it, even though it stinks of mold, but he slapped new carpet pads underneath and said that was good enough. And those fire alarms belong to the residents- we bought them ourselves when he started fining us for not having working alarms, but never bothered to supply them. We pooled our resources to get them and we  _ still  _ don’t have enough to put in every unit.” 

Jason licked his lips and tried to stay present. “I noticed there weren’t any fire escapes either. What’d he do to them, sell ‘em off for scrap?” 

Chance sighed. “That was before my time, but apparently Firebug melted half the fire escapes in the Alley about seven years back, including ours, and of course--” 

“Never replaced, yeah I’m getting that. We’re gonna fix the fire escapes sooner rather than later.” The crowbar trauma was a little obvious and usually overshadowed the “trapped in a building with a bomb, slowly suffocating in thick smoke and rising heat with no escape route” trauma that so rarely reared its ugly head, but the idea of being in a highly flammable building with no fire escapes  _ bothered  _ him in a way he didn’t want to touch just now. 

“Hopefully not before the furnaces. It’s gonna be a long winter this year.” 

Jason shook his head. “No, furnaces will be done first.” He puckered his lips, then brightened. There was an idea. “I’ve got a friend that’s good with tools. He might be able to start fixing this place up as soon as tomorrow.” He’d just call Roy as soon as the make-shift tour ended, and then--

\--then nothing, he realized. They’d had a fight and Roy had gone off to get high. That was the whole reason Jason was here at all. Right. Fuck. By the end of the week might have been a better estimate, he thought sourly. It all depended on whatever cocktail Roy had taken this time.

“That sounds… great.” Jason looked up, eyes narrowing at Chance’s expression.

“What?”

Chance sucked at his lip and leaned against a doorway, looking Jason dead in the eye. “Listen. I’m not tryina look a gift horse in the mouth, but… I been around long enough to know people don’t give somethin’ for nothin’. What’s your boss want with this building, huh? He gonna turn one of the units into a meth lab or somethin’?”

Jason’s brain stalled out, but his mouth kept going. “Uh, y’know, I don’t… you don’t really... I mean he’s the Red Hood. Does anyone know what that guy’s thinking? But I can- I’m pretty sure it’s not gonna be a meth lab. Hood’s not really a- we don’t make our own drugs. I’m pretty sure he failed chemistry, actually. He’s more of a, uh, humanities guy, I think.” He shut his mouth with a click and pinched the bridge of his nose as his brain caught up with the rest of him. “Um. There any chance we can keep that between you and me?”

Chance looked like he’d just sucked on a lemon. “You really have no idea what he’s gonna do with this place.”

“I… wouldn’t say that.” Jason hedged. Chance’s frown deepened and Jason held up a hand. “Look, I don’t know exactly what’s gonna happen to this place in the long run, but I do know that Hood’s not gonna do anything that puts kids in danger, yeah? No meth labs, no gun runnin’, nothing like that.” He hitched his shoulders up, an uneasy half-shrug. “You guys are Hood’s people now. And Hood looks out for his people, hell or high water.”

“So, what, he gonna try and run a protection racket on us? Raise our rent to pay for repairs that never get done?” Chance shook his head. “It’s gotta be somethin’, man.”

“Hood would  _ never,”  _ Jason spat, vision flashing green again. He stopped, forced a deep breath and tried again. “Hood ain’t that kinda guy,” he said flatly. “He’s one of us. Knows what it’s like to be fightin’ for everything you got and still barely gettin’ by. Hell, he’ll prob’ly lower the rent on this place, once he gets a chance to look at those contracts downstairs. And he sure as hell ain’t gonna charge you rent ‘til this place is fuckin’  _ liveable  _ again.”

Chance clearly didn’t believe him, but he didn’t disagree. He just grunted and jerked a thumb over his shoulder. “This one’s mine. C’mon in.” He led Jason through the unit without much fanfare, pointing out the mold around the baseboards, the kitchen sink that barely drained, the stove with only two working burners. Jason added it all to his list, starring the complaints that other tenants shared- the plumbing was a nightmare in this dump- and pursing his lips as the list got longer and longer. When he’d finally got everything down, he sighed and flipped the notebook shut. Chance watched him impassively.

“That everything?”

“Everything I know about.”

Jason nodded sharply. “It’s gonna take a while to fix, but it’ll all get done. Sooner than later, if I have anything to say about it. There anything else I should know before I take this back to Hood? Any empty units that need inspected?”

Chance raised an eyebrow. “Unless someone’s moved in in the last thirty minutes, third floor is still empty.”

Jason snapped his fingers and pointed at Chance. “Shit, right. Good call. Forgot you said that. I’ll look at those next.”

Chance snorted, a harsh exhalation of air that might have been half a laugh. “Good luck with that. The stairs are shit and nobody’s got a key to the units. Old landlord lost the keys ages ago and never bothered to get new ones made, or so I’ve heard.”

Jason smiled thinly. “‘M one of Hood’s boys, remember? I don’t need a key to get where I want.” He touched two fingers to his eyebrow and gave Chance a mock-salute. “Thanks for the tour. I’ll see ya around.” He slipped out of the unit before Chance could say anything else, idly tapping the pad of paper against his thigh as he headed for the stairs. Chance was right; they  _ were  _ shit. He tested each step as he went, noting where the metal was rusting and where there were faults in the metal itself- sloppy joins and hairline cracks that groaned when you put weight on them. Every step held, but it’d be a cold day in hell before he let anyone else use them.

“Have to rope these off somehow,” He muttered to himself. “Damn kids might fall through and get themselves killed.” But then, there was always the chance that blocking off the stairs would just make them a more interesting place to play. He’d been ten and stupid, once. And a condemned floor where no adults would come after you had been exactly his idea of the perfect clubhouse. Maybe it was best to leave them as they were for now. He sighed and stuck the paper pad under his armpit while he fished out the pair of bobby pins he kept tucked into the curls at the base of his neck. It’d been a relief once his hair had grown out long enough to hide the pins. He hadn’t learned much from Barbie, but  _ this  _ little trick had saved his skin more than once.

He jimmied the door of the first apartment open and got to work. The inspection didn’t take long. The plumbing was the main issue, just like in all the other units. Getting that fixed would go a long way to make the entire complex liveable again. Other than that, the unit didn’t have a bad set-up, really. The carpet wasn’t exactly plush, but it didn’t have holes worn into it. The walls had been painted sometime in the last year- probably right after the previous tenant had left. And the floor plan was almost  _ roomy _ . He’d counted four closets, a full bathroom, a kitchen with four counters rather than the usual two, and a bedroom large enough to hold a king-size bed comfortably. You could do much worse than this in Crime Alley, he mused.

He moved on to the next apartment, this one a two bedroom. It was almost a mirror image of the first unit, the only difference being that the single large bedroom had been split into two rooms, each with just enough floor space to fit a full-size bed. It would be a bit of a squeeze to fit a true bedroom suite worth of furniture, but that wasn’t really a problem since he’d never known anyone in the Alley with a full set. Still, they’d be better as an office space or spare room than a true bedroom. Actually, if there were some way to combine the two apartments, he could market it as a three bedroom deal. Get it to a family with a couple of kids, or maybe a freelancer that needed a studio to work on their art or music or something.

He stared at the wall the apartments shared, the beginnings of an idea bubbling up. If the wall just… disappeared, the combined units would practically have an open floor plan. The kitchens were right next to each other, and the counter space-- to say nothing of the double ovens. He stifled a laugh. It would almost be like cooking in the Manor. And the living area would be large enough to actually have a dining area and a sitting area, instead of a hybrid of the two. Or he could add in a bar or- 

He stopped himself and shook his head. He was just dreaming. No one would be able to afford a place like that in the Alley. Even if he lowered the price enough for someone to afford it, no one would take it out of sheer suspicion. But- now that the idea was in his head, he couldn’t shake it. There was so much potential here. It felt like the theater all over again. Somewhere he could remake, something  _ tangible  _ he could do. It had  _ carpet _ . Once they fixed the pipes, he bet the water pressure would be  _ amazing _ . And G-d, the  _ kitchen _ .

They  _ did  _ need a new apartment. It was a quiet thought, but insistent. It even seemed like one of his thoughts, not one of the other’s. He toyed with the idea, poking at it until it grew into something a little stronger, a little more real. He  _ did  _ own the place now. And he was so tired of moving around all the time. So tired of not having a place to call  _ home _ . It’d be good for Roy and Kori, too. To have somewhere to come back to at the end of the day, no matter what else had happened. He could make that for them;  _ they  _ could make that for them. Kori could help with the demolition and the welding and carrying the heaviest materials. And Roy could work wonders with duct tape and string, much less actual tools. And maybe rebuilding a home together would do for them what the theater was doing for him. Maybe  _ having  _ carpet and hot water and good food- maybe those small luxuries could help them want to stay in the real world for a while instead of running and  _ running _ . They couldn’t last forever like this. Might not even last the year. But if they had a place to come back to- an escape to reality instead of the escape from reality that Kori’s island had always been.

Maybe- maybe then they could find something to be happy about for a change. He ran his finger down the side of the pad of paper, flicking through the pages until he found the list of repairs again. It was… a very long list. And it’d be such a shame to put all that effort into something and then not even get to enjoy it. And he’d said that Hood would look out for these people, too. How could he look out for them if he was never there? 

His resolve firmed and he snapped the pad shut again, rolling it into a tube and sticking it into a back pocket. He pulled the door shut behind him and took the steps down two at a time, waving at every new neighbor he saw on his way down.

“I’ll see you around,” he called. And this time, it was a promise.


End file.
